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‘It must be weird coming back here,’ she said.
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. Saw myself in the mirror above the dressing table. Not a pretty sight.
I’d had to come back. Reliving that night was part of the process I knew I had to go through. It was necessary to remember as much as possible.
‘Talk me through it,’ Scar said.
She was sitting opposite me on the sofa, a can of Diet Coke in her hand. She’d removed her jacket, and I noticed she had a new tattoo. The name Lizzie was scrawled across her right forearm, and there was a red heart beneath it.
‘I got a call from Ruby that evening,’ I said, casting my mind back and feeling at once the sharp stab of bitter memories. ‘One of her regulars wanted someone new. I had to turn up at the hotel at eight and come straight up to the room. That was pretty much how it worked most times. All very straightforward.’
‘And businesslike,’ Scar said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And businesslike.’
I’d actually been an escort for five months by then and I told punters to call me The Madam because I thought it had a saucy ring to it. The money was good and having sex with strange men wasn’t as bad as I’d feared it would be. It was usually over very quickly, and the guys were mostly decent and polite. There was the shame and guilt, of course, but it was something I was prepared to live with.
After all, I’d started selling my body out of desperation, not because it was a chosen vocation. I was a single mum with a pile of debt and an addiction to soft drugs. It was an easy way to resolve my problems, or so I thought. The plan was to save enough money to pull myself out of the mire and secure a better life for myself and my son. But that’s not how it worked out.
‘Rufus Benedict opened the door in a hotel robe,’ I said. ‘He was a middle-aged guy with bad breath and a big belly. But he seemed harmless enough. We talked for a bit and just as we were about to get started there was a knock on the door. Benedict put on his robe and answered it. Outside the door there was a bottle of chilled champagne with a note saying it was with the compliments of the hotel.’
Benedict was all smiles as he popped the cork and filled two glasses. He told me to undress and sat there sipping at his drink as he watched me remove my clothes to soft background music. I’d developed a well-practised routine that was designed to tease and titillate. My clothes came off with slow precision as I licked my lips and ran my fingers gently over every inch of uncovered flesh.
‘It all gets a little hazy after that,’ I said. ‘He took off the robe and asked me to get him aroused, which I did.’
Scar was trying not to show her revulsion. I’d told her the story before, but never in so much detail. She looked away briefly and bit into her bottom lip.
‘We eventually moved to the bed,’ I said. ‘But nothing more happened because Benedict was suddenly struggling to stay awake and couldn’t even keep it up. I felt tired too and a little giddy. Then I heard someone’s voice and realised we weren’t alone in the room. I turned round and saw that two men had let themselves in.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Well, everything was distorted so I couldn’t make out their faces. Then I saw one of them attack Benedict and when I started to scream the other one put a hand over my mouth and pulled me down onto the floor. I could barely breathe. It was terrifying.’
Scar put down her Coke and came and sat beside me. She placed an arm around my shoulders. I was trembling.
‘Take it easy, babe,’ she said.
I downed some more water and said, ‘I took a blow to the forehead then and everything went blank. When I came to I was covered in blood and Benedict was lying here on the bed. He’d been stabbed once in the chest and he was dead. The murder weapon was a knife I’d never seen before and my prints were on it.’
I closed my eyes and recalled the awful sense of panic that had consumed me.
‘What did you do?’ Scar said.
‘I couldn’t stop screaming. Before long there were people knocking on the door. When I finally managed to open it I was so worked up that I fainted. The cops arrived and I was arrested. As far as they were concerned it was an open and shut case.’
‘Jesus.’
‘There was no evidence to suggest that anyone else had been in the room. The security cameras hadn’t picked anything up, and the only prints on the knife belonged to me. I couldn’t convince them that someone had come into the room while we were having sex.’
‘What about the champagne?’ she said. ‘Did they check to see if it was drugged?’
‘There was no champagne. Whoever killed Benedict took the bottle and glasses away. The hotel’s room service claimed they hadn’t delivered anything to the room.’
‘But what about the post-mortem? They do toxicology tests, don’t they? That should have shown up any knock-out drugs in your system.’
‘Well, it didn’t. My lawyer said not all drugs can be detected during an autopsy.’
I got up and walked around, touching things, while letting the memories crowd my mind. Benedict’s blood had been spattered across the sheets, the walls, the carpet. It was smeared across my own breasts and face and even now it was the dominant theme of recurring nightmares.
‘The police were certain that I murdered Benedict, but my lawyer put up a convincing argument that I was defending myself,’ I said. ‘There was the head wound and some other bruises. There’d obviously been a struggle, so the CPS agreed to drop the murder charge to manslaughter to make sure they got a conviction, provided I pleaded guilty.’
‘You were lucky you didn’t get life, Lizzie.’
That was true. But I was unlucky to spend time behind bars for something I didn’t do.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s get out of here. I need some fresh air.’
A few minutes later we walked out into the car park. As we approached the Fiesta I noticed something white under one of the windscreen wipers. I thought it was a leaflet or a flyer. But when I pulled it out I saw it was a piece of lined paper from a notebook. There were two short sentences scrawled on it in black felt tip ink.
Let it rest, Lizzie. Open up old wounds and you’ll regret it.
2 (#u3f0a09e9-71c0-5c5d-b8d1-b9088c9a0664)
Southampton central police station. An eight-storey building near the city’s enormous port complex.
Scar waited in the car while I went into reception and asked for DCI Martin Ash. I gave my name and explained that I didn’t have an appointment. The duty officer ran his eyes over me like I was something nasty that had been blown in from the street. He probably knew instinctively that I was just out of prison. Maybe it’s something that cops can tell simply by looking at you.
Eventually he picked up the phone and called the Major Investigations Department. After a brief conversation he cradled the receiver. ‘The DCI’s out. But DS McGrath got back a few minutes ago and is coming down to see you.’
And with that he returned to whatever he was doing before I arrived. I sat on a bench and thought about the note. Back in town for less than an hour and already I’d been warned off. But that was cool because it meant that someone was worried. They knew – or suspected – that I was going to stir things up and they weren’t happy about it.
DS McGrath stepped out of a side door into the reception area after about five minutes. He was mid-to-late thirties and looked vaguely familiar. In fact I was surprised that I couldn’t immediately place him because he had the kind of looks that a girl doesn’t easily forget. Dark wavy hair, sharp distinctive features. Handsome in a rugged, natural way. A Holloway pin-up for sure.
‘Hello, Miss Wells. I’m Detective Sergeant Paul McGrath.’
He thrust out his hand for me to shake, but I ignored it as a matter of principle. Despite his good looks and obvious sex appeal he was still part of the establishment that had put me away.
‘I just talked to DCI Ash on the phone,’ he said, withdrawing his hand a little self-consciously. ‘He’s on his way back to the office and he’s happy to see you. He wants me to take you upstairs and give you a cup of coffee.’
‘I’d prefer tea,’ I said.
He flashed a thin smile, showing a gap in his front teeth. ‘That’s no problem. Just come and make yourself comfortable while you wait.’
The corridors were familiar. I was led through them after I was arrested. Very little had changed. The posters that adorned the walls issued the same old warnings about drugs, knives and casual sex.
We walked through an empty open-plan office to a small room at one end. There was a desk and several chairs. View of a bus stop.
‘Take a seat and I’ll fetch you that tea,’ McGrath said.
I sat and stared at the wall behind the desk. More posters were pinned to it, along with memos and newspaper cuttings. On the desk was a photo of Martin Ash with his family – a plump wife and two young sons. There was another framed photo on the grey filing cabinet to the right of the desk. It showed two men together – Ash and Neil Ferris. They were wearing suits and smiling for the camera. I thought back to the hours they spent interviewing me in a tiny windowless room. Playing good cop, bad cop. Trying desperately to get a confession. Pumping me with tepid tea and false reassurances.
God knows how many times they made me recount what had happened in that hotel room. They wanted to know exactly what Benedict and I had got up to before he was killed. Did we have intercourse? Did he pay me in cash before we got started?
They asked me time and again why my fingerprints were on the knife if I’d never seen it before. And why the hotel staff knew nothing about the bottle of champagne I said had been delivered to the room.
It was a tough time for me. I was confused and disoriented. And angry because they refused to accept that I’d been the victim of a well-planned stitch-up.
McGrath returned with tea in a plastic cup. I couldn’t help but notice how tight his trousers were. They showed off a narrow waist and well-toned ass. It was the kind of thing that used to turn me on, and if I was honest with myself it still did. It was a stark reminder of how hard it was going to be to decide which path to follow in respect of my sexuality.
‘Careful,’ he said, as he handed the cup to me. ‘It’s hot.’
I thanked him and drank some. He was right. It was scalding, but it tasted pretty good.
McGrath sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. I could smell his sweat and aftershave. After four years without a man it was difficult to ignore.
‘Do you know how long Ash will be?’ I asked.
‘Any minute now,’ he said. ‘He’s probably pulling into the car park as we speak.’
I sipped some more tea and met his gaze. His eyes were pale blue and alert. He seemed to be searching my expression for something.
After a beat, he said, ‘You probably don’t remember me. But I was one of the officers who brought you in. I was a DC then.’
‘That so?’
‘You were in a bit of a state. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.’
I was suddenly conscious of my appearance. I knew I looked pale and drawn. My clothes were ill-fitting and my hair was a mess. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d already given me marks out of ten.
‘I can barely believe it was so long ago,’ he said. ‘It’s flown by.’
A bolt of anger shot through me. ‘I’m glad you think so. But then you weren’t locked up in some poxy cell for most of the time.’
He looked mortified.
‘Shit, I’m sorry I said that, Miss Wells. It came out wrong. It was insensitive.’
‘Too fucking right it was,’ I said.
‘I wasn’t thinking. Please accept my apology.’
‘That’s the trouble with you coppers,’ I said. ‘You’re brainless fucking twats who don’t think.’
He was about to respond when DCI Ash walked into the room wearing a broad grin that revealed sharp little teeth.
‘What is it with you, McGrath?’ he said. ‘I leave you alone with a lady for ten minutes and you’ve already managed to upset her.’
McGrath looked from me to Ash and then back to me. His face reddened and for some reason I felt sorry for him.
‘I’ve got a big mouth, guv,’ he said.
‘So tell me something I don’t already know.’
Ash came further into the room and looked down at me. He was wearing a blue suit and white shirt with a starched collar. The creases in the trousers were razor sharp. His thinning hair was slicked back with gel. He’d put on weight since I last saw him and had a more generous paunch.
‘Good to see you again, Lizzie.’
I arched my brow at him. ‘Really?’
‘For sure. It’s not often that someone I put away looks me up the day they get out. It is kind of freaky, though. Should I be concerned?’
‘Only if you’re a lying bastard with something to hide,’ I said.
The smile became a hearty chuckle which stayed with him as he walked behind the desk and folded his bulk into the chair.
‘Very funny, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re still a spirited little madam even after a few years in the slammer.’
I never did like Ash. There had always been an arrogance in his tone that angered me. From the moment he took me into custody he treated me like slime. His favourite put-down line back then was: ‘So how should I describe you, Lizzie? Or should I say Madam Lizzie? What are you: a brass, a tom, a whore or a prossy?’
‘Try escort,’ I’d responded that first time, but he thought it was funny and told me not to be ridiculous.
‘Escort implies that you’re sort of respectable,’ he’d said. ‘When in fact you’re anything but.’
I could tell he hadn’t changed. Still arrogant, obnoxious and judgemental. And that made him dangerous.
‘I’ve actually been expecting you to show up,’ he said. ‘Soon as I got wind that your girlfriend was in town and asking lots of questions.’
I stared at him. ‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘Come off it, Lizzie. We’re not stupid. Some strange bird looking like Al Capone suddenly appears on the scene and starts pumping people about things that are none of her business. Didn’t it occur to you that we’d get suspicious, especially when she began touting for information on a killing that happened years ago?’
‘How did you make the connection?’
‘It wasn’t difficult,’ he said. ‘She has a few contacts down in Portsmouth. One of them happens to be a snout for me. He alerted me that she was snooping around and we did some checking.’
‘So why didn’t you talk to her?’
‘No reason to. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And besides, we guessed that she was sniffing around for you. I’m assuming you’re here to tell me why.’
‘In a second.’ I took the folded note from my jeans and leaned over the desk to hand it to him. ‘First look at that.’
‘What is it?’
‘Someone put it on my girlfriend’s windscreen after we left the car for a short time.’
He held the note between his fingers as though the paper might be radioactive.
Then slowly he unfolded it and read aloud, ‘“Let it rest, Lizzie. Open up old wounds and you’ll regret it.”’
